The Hero And The Crown

 

THEY STARTED BACK toward the mountains before the sun had risen much higher. Aerin had buried the ashes of the fire, out of habit, for there was certainly nothing around that might burn; and she reverently wrapped the surka wreath and its stone, and the Crown, and stowed them in one of Talat's saddlebags. There was nothing else left to do.

Her entourage strung out behind her, cats on one flank, dogs on the other. Only once did she look back, when they were already well across the plain and the sun was beginning to drop toward evening. The way did slope down from the dark mountain, and she was sure that this one thing had changed, even if there had been a disappearing forest between. But if this was the worst of what remained, she thought, they were getting off very lightly.

The ruins of the black tower were small in the distance, and they seemed to leer at her, but it was a small nasty, useless leer, like a tyrant on the scaffold as the rope is placed around his neck. This plain would not be a healthy or attractive place for many years to come, but it would not be a dangerous one either. She went on with a lighter heart.

She was eager to reach the edge of her beloved Damarian Hills by nightfall, that she might camp in their shadow and drink from their clean waters, and so kept on into the beginning twilight. She wanted to sing when she caught the first breath of the evening breeze from the kindly trees; but her voice had never adapted itself to carrying a tune, so she didn't. Her army all seemed to be glad to be under familiar leaves again, and the dogs wagged their tails and made cheerful playful snaps at one another, and the cats knocked each other with clawless feet, and rolled on the ground. Talat pranced. And so they came merrily to a turn in the path they followed, paying attention to nothing but their own pleasure; and then Aerin caught a sudden whiff of smoke as from a small fire, and then the smell of cooking. She sat down hard, but Talat's ears flicked back at her. What do you mean stop here? and went on. And there was a small campfire, tucked in the curve of the trail where there was a little clearing and a stream curving around the other side of it.

"Good day to you," said Luthe.

Talat whickered a greeting, and Aerin slid off him and he went forward alone to nose Luthe's hands and browse in his hair. "I thought you never left your hall and your lake," said Aerin.

"Rarely," said Luthe. "In fact, increasingly exceedingly rarely. But I can be prodded by extraordinary circumstances."

Aerin smiled faintly. "You have had plenty to choose from here recently."

"Yes."

"May I ask which particular circumstance was sufficiently extraordinary in this case?"

"Aerin - " Luthe paused, and then his voice took on its bantering tone again. "I thought you might like to be dragged back to the present, that you might arrive in time to give Tor his Crown and end the siege; and of course now instead of a few hundred years hence there is no jungle to be compelled to claw your way through. I've no doubt you could have done it, but it would have put you in a foul temper, and you would have been in a fouler one by the time you came back to the Lake of Dreams - assuming you would have had the sense to make your way there, not in your case something one can count on. You would have needed my assistance to regain your own time - if lighting a little fire made you see double, charging about in time without assistance would have blinded you for good - and the longer you're out of it, the harder it would have been to get you back in. So I came to meet you."

Aerin stared at the fire, for she couldn't think at all when she looked at Luthe. "I really was a long time climbing, then," she said.

"Yes," said Luthe. "A very long time."

"And a very long time falling."

"And a very long time falling."

Aerin said nothing more while she pulled Talat's saddle off and dropped it by the fire, and rubbed his back dry, and checked his feet for small stones. "I suppose I should forgive you, then, for making me other than mortal," she said.

"You might. I would appreciate it if you did." He sighed. "It would be nice to claim that I knew this was going to happen all along, knew that your only chance of success in regaining your Crown was to do as I did. But I didn't. Sheer blind luck, I'm afraid."

He handed her a cup of malak, steaming hot, which she drank greedily; then stew on a thin metal plate, but she ate it so fast it had no time to burn her fingers, and then she had seconds and thirds. When she was finished at last, Luthe gave what remained to the king cat and queen dog, in carefully measured halves, on separate plates. Aerin heard his footsteps behind her as he returned from setting those two plates out, and she said, "Thank you."

The footsteps paused just behind her, and she felt him bend over her, and then his hands rested on her shoulders. She put her own hands up, and drew his down, till he was kneeling behind her, and he bowed his head to press his cheek to her face. She turned in his arms, and put her own arms around his neck and raised her face and kissed him.

They remained near the fire far into the night, feeding it with twigs so that it would keep burning; the animals were all long since asleep, and even Talat was relaxed enough to lie down and doze. Luthe sprawled on his back with his head in Aerin's lap, and she stroked his hair through her fingers, watching the thick curls wind around her fingers, stretch to their fullest length, and spring back again. "Is it so amusing?" said Luthe.

"Yes," said Aerin, "although I should like it just as well if it were straight and green, or if you were bald as an egg and painted your head silver."

She had not told him much of her meeting with her uncle, nor had she asked him any questions about him; but she could not say how much he guessed - or knew, in the same way he knew of her fire-starting - and she listened eagerly when he began to talk of Agsded, and of their school days together. The chill of hating someone with her own face eased as she listened, and eased still more at the sight of Luthe smiling up into her face as he talked; and at last she told him, haltingly, a little of what had passed between them.

Luthe looked wry, and was silent for a time, and they heard the soft contented moan of a dog stretching in its sleep. "Agsded was not entirely wrong about me," he said at last. "I was stubborn, and no, frankly, I was not one of Goriolo's most brilliant and promising pupils. But I survived on that stubbornness and stayed with my master long enough to learn more than most of the ones who had greater gifts to begin with and then went off and got themselves killed or became sheep farmers because a mage's life is such a grim and thankless one.

"I was also always at my worst when Agsded was around, for he was one of those glittering people whose every gesture looks like a miracle, whose every word sounds like a new philosophy. You've a bit of that yourself, valiantly as you seek to hide it.

"But I don't know that he and I are so unequal in the end; for as I made mistakes in ignorance, or obstinacy, he made mistakes in pride ... ."

"You haven't asked me how I - how he lost and I won," said Aerin, after another pause.

"I have no intention of asking. You may tell me or not as you wish, now or later."

"There is something at least I wish to ask you."

"Ask away."

"It requires you move; I need to reach my saddlebags."

Luthe groaned. "Is it worth it?"

Aerin didn't mean to laugh, but she did anyway, and Luthe smiled languorously, but he did sit up and free her. "This," she said, and handed him the charred wreath and its red stone.

"The gods wept," said Luthe, and no longer looked sleepy. "I should have thought you might have this. I am the earth's most careless teacher and Goriolo would have my head if he were around to collect it." He parted the dry vines and spilled the red stone into his hand. It gleamed in the firelight; he rolled it gently from one hand to the other. "This makes your Hero's Crown look like a cheap family heirloom."

"What is it?" Aerin asked, nervously.

"Maur's bloodstone. The last drop of blood from its heart - the fatal one," Luthe replied. "All dragons who die by bloodletting spill one of these at the last; but you'd need a hawk's eyes to find that last curdled drop from a small dragon."

Aerin shuddered. "Then you keep it," she said. "I'm grateful for its wizard-defeating properties, and if I have the great misfortune ever to need to defeat another wizard, I shall borrow it from you. But I don't want it around."

Luthe looked at her thoughtfully, cradling it in his hand. "If you bound it into your Damarian Crown, it would make whoever wore it invincible."

Aerin shook her head violently. "And be forever indebted to the memory of Maur? Damar can do without."

"You don't know what you're saying. A dragon's bloodstone is not for good or wickedness; it just is. And it is a thing of great power, for it is its dragon's death - unlike its skull, which your folk treated like a harmless artifact. The bloodstone is the real trophy, the prize worth the winning; worth almost any winning. You're letting your own experience color your answer."

"Yes, I am letting my own experience color my answer, which is what experience is for. A dragon's heartstone may not be goodness or evil from your vantage point, but I was born a simple mortal not that long ago and I remember a lot more about the simple mortal viewpoint than maybe you ever knew. A bloodstone is not a safe sort of emblem to hand over to any of us - them - even to the royal family of Damar." She grimaced, thinking of Perlith. "Or even the sovereigns of Damar only. Even if it were used wisely, it cannot be well enough protected; for there will be others, like you, who know what it is - others with fewer mortal limits than Damarian kings. Look at the amount of harm Agsded did with the Crown alone."

She paused and then added slowly, "I'm not even sure I believe you about its being a power of neither good nor evil. Our stories say that the dragons first came from the North. Almost all the evil that has ever troubled our land has come from there, nor has it often happened that something from there was not evil. You said once that Damarian royalty - any of us with the Gift, with kelar have a common ancestor with the Northerners. So why have they and their land turned out their way and we ours?

"No. I'll not take the thing with me. You keep it, or I'll bury it here before we go."

Luthe blinked several times. "I've grown accustomed to being right - most of the time. Right all of the time in arguments with those who were born simple mortals not that long ago. I think - perhaps - in this case that you are right. How unexpected." He smiled bemusedly. "Very well. I shall keep it. And you will know where to find it if ever you have the need."

"I will know," said Aerin. "But gods preserve me from needing that knowledge ever again."

Luthe looked at her, a small frown beginning. "That's not a good sort of vow to make, at least not aloud, where things may be listening."

Aerin sighed. "You are indeed a terribly careless teacher. You never warned me about vow-making either." The frown cleared, and Luthe laughed, and it turned into a yawn halfway.

"Aerin," he said. "I'm wearied to death from dragging you backward through the centuries by the heel, and I must sleep, but it would comfort my rest to hold you in my arms and know I did succeed."

"Yes," said Aerin. "It was not a comfortable time I spent being so dragged, and I would be glad to know that I do not spend this night alone as I did that one."

In the morning Aerin said abruptly, as she fixed Talat's saddle in place. "Here - how do you travel? Do you float like a mist and waft upon the breeze?"

"Presumably I would then have to order myself a breeze to waft me in the right direction. No, dearheart, I walk. It's surprisingly effective."

"You walked here from your mountain?"

"I did indeed," he said, shouldering his pack. "And I will now walk back. I should, however, be grateful for your company as far as the foot of my mountain. Our ways lie together till then."

Aerin stared at him blankly.

"I can move quite as fast as that antiquated beast you prefer as transportation," he said irritably. "To begin with, my legs are longer, even if fewer, and, secondly, I carry a great deal less baggage. Stop staring at me like that."

"Mm," said Aerin, and mounted. Luthe was right, however; they covered just as much ground as Aerin and Talat and their army would have on their own - although it could not be said they traveled together. Luthe walked somewhat less fast than Talat cantered, but a great deal faster than Talat walked, and they played a kind of leapfrog all day, Luthe calling directions as needed for the smoother and quicker route as Talat's heels passed him, and Talat pinning his ears back and snorting when Luthe had the temerity to pass them.

None of them saw much of the folstza and yerig that day, but at evening, when they camped, Aerin's four-legged army re-formed around them. "You know, my friends," she said to the rows of gleaming eyes, "I'm going south - far farther south than your homes and territories. You might want to think about that before you travel many more days with me."

The one-eyed queen's tail stirred by a quarter-inch; the black king ignored her words entirely.

"It never hurts to have a few more friends at your back," said Luthe, tending the pot over the fire.

"They're staying only for your cooking," said Aerin, who had gotten very tired of the usual Damarian trail fare on her way north.

Luthe looked at her from half-shut eyes. "I will take advantage wherever I can," he said mildly.

Aerin put her arms around him, and the arm that was not holding the spoon crept around her waist. "You may give up cooking at once, and paint your bald head silver," she said.

"Mm," he replied. "My love, I feel it only fair to warn you that I am feeling quite alert and strong tonight, and if you choose to sleep with me again, it is not sleep you will be getting."

"Then I look forward to no sleep whatsoever," Aerin said contentedly, and Luthe laughed and dropped his spoon.

The next few days went all too quickly; Aerin had to remind herself that it had been a fortnight she and Talat had spent on their way from the Lake of Dreams to Agsded's grey plain, for the way toward home seemed far shorter. On the fifth night Aerin drew Gonturan, and showed Luthe her edge, and the sharp knick broken out of it; the sight hurt her almost as much as the sight of the lamed Talat standing listlessly in his pasture once had. It must have shown on her face, for Luthe said, "Don't look so stricken. I can deal with this; and I don't have the worry about her mortality to get in my way either." Aerin smiled a small smile, and Luthe touched her cheek with his fingers. She aided him as he asked her, and the next morning Aerin resheathed a shining flawless blade; but she and Luthe slept heavily and long for the next two nights after.

Spring had come thoroughly to the lands they traveled through; the grass was lush everywhere, and the summer fruits were beginning to push through the last petals on the trees and bushes; and Luthe and Aerin saw everything as their friends, and the folstza and yerig were as polite to Luthe as they were to Aerin.

But Luthe and Aerin knew without speaking of it when their last night came, and Aerin was grateful for a moonless night, that she might weep and Luthe not see. He slept at last, curled up against her, her arm tucked under his and drawn over his ribs, her hand held to his breast and cradled with both of his. She stayed awake, listening to Luthe's breathing and the sound of the sky turning overhead; and when near dawn he sighed and stirred, she gently drew her hand from his and crept free of the blanket. She paced up and down some few minutes, and then stood by the ashes of last night's camp fire to look at Luthe in the growing light.

The blanket had slipped down; his chest lay bare nearly to the waist, and one long hand was flung out. His skin where the sun never touched was as white as milk, almost blue, like skimmed milk, although his face was ruddied and roughened by sun and weather. She looked down at her own arms and hands; she was rose and gold next to him, although she looked as colorless as wax against full-blooded Damarians. She wondered where Luthe came from; wondered if she'd ever know; wondered what he would say if she asked. And knew that, on this morning, this last morning, she would not ask; and that in the last few days, when she might have, she had not thought to. And this gave her her first conscious pang of parting.

She knew too that it would be years before they met again, and so she stared at him, memorizing him, that she might draw out his likeness in her mind at any time during those years; and then she remembered with a little shiver that she was no longer quite mortal, and the shiver was not for the knowledge but for the pleasure it now gave her, the first pleasure it had ever given her, that she might look forward to seeing Luthe again someday. And that pleasure frightened her, for she was the daughter of the king of Damar, and she was bringing the Hero's Crown home to the king and to the first sola, who would be king after, and whom she would marry.

She wondered if she had ever truly not known that Tor loved her, if it were only that she had always feared to love him in return. She was afraid no longer, and the irony of it was that Luthe had taught her not to be afraid, and that it was her love for Luthe that made her recognize her love for Tor. She had killed the Black Dragon, she carried an enchanted sword, and now she brought the Hero's Crown back to the land that had lost it, having won it in fair fight from him who had held it against her and against Damar. She could declare that she would no longer be afraid - of her heritage, of her place in the royal house of Damar, of her father's people; and so she could also, now, marry Tor, for such was her duty to her country, whether her country approved of the idea or not. And Tor would be glad to see her back; she had written a letter to him that night that she might have died; almost everything else had receded to fog and memory, but she had remembered Tor, and remembered to leave him word that she would come back to him.

She had once promised to return to Luthe also. She sat down near where he lay still sleeping and gazed at the white white skin and blue-tinted hollows. She thought, They say that everyone looks young when asleep, like the child each used to be. Luthe looks only like Luthe, sleeping; and her eyes filled with tears. She blinked, and when she could see clearly again, Luthe's eyes were open, and he reached up to draw her down to kiss her, and she saw, when she drew her head back a moment after the kiss, that when he closed his eyes again, two tears spilled from their corners and ran down his temples, glinting in the morning sunlight.

This morning they were careful, for the first time since they had met at the edge of Agsded's plain, that each should wrap only his or her own possessions in each bundle. They spoke little. Even Talat was subdued, looking anxiously over his shoulder at Aerin as she strapped the saddle in place, rather than doing his usual morning imitation of a war-horse scenting his enemy just over the next hill.

She did not mount at once but turned back to Luthe, and he held out his arms, and she rushed into them. He sighed, and her own breast rose and fell against his. "I have put you on a horse - that same horse - and watched you ride away from me before. I thought I should never get over it that first time. I think I followed you for that; not for any noble desire to help you save Damar; only to pick up whatever pieces Agsded might have left of you .... I know I shall never get over it this time. If you do it, someday, a third time, it will probably kill me." Aerin tried to smile, but Luthe stopped her with a kiss. "Go now. A quick death is the best I believe."

"You can't scare me," Aerin said, almost succeeding in keeping her voice level. "You told me long ago that you aren't mortal."

"I never said I can't be killed," replied Luthe. "If you wish to chop logic with me, my dearest love, you must make sure of your premises."

"I shall practice them - while - I shall practice, that I may dazzle you when next we meet."

There was a little silence, and Luthe said, "You need not try to dazzle me."

"I must go," Aerin said hopelessly, and flung herself at Talat just as she had done once before. "I will see you again."

Luthe nodded.

She almost could not say the words: "But it will be a long time - long and long."

Luthe nodded again.

"But we shall meet."

Luthe nodded a third time.

"Gods of all the worlds, say something," she cried, and Talat startled beneath her.

"I love you," said Luthe. "I will love you till the stars crumble, which is a less idle threat than is usual to lovers on parting. Go quickly, for truly I cannot bear this."

She closed her legs violently around the nervous Talat, and he leaped into a gallop. Long after Aerin was out of sight, Luthe lay full length upon the ground, and pressed his ear to it, and listened to Talat's hoofbeats carrying Aerin farther and farther away.